


For Better or Worse

by swanfrost



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, title doesn't really mean anything, tsuna and enma being goofballs basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanfrost/pseuds/swanfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Future Fic] The Vongola: old, powerful, deadly. It is a name that will never be forgotten. The Shimon: old and powerful…but forgotten by the passage of time. Now, in the era of Vongola Decimo, the once silent Shimon has begun to flaunt its power, growing in ways that could perhaps outshine even the Vongola. But, for some reason, Sawada Tsunayoshi doesn’t seem worried at all. </p>
<p>or, a charming story of two brilliant mafia bosses who like to mess with people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Better or Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Or, in which I try to be funny. It still doesn't work. This was written for the khr valentine's swap on tumblr, and is my gift to tumblr user kikubeilschmidt.

I.

Red hair and red eyes. Saggy clothes and scraped knees. A band-aid placed over the bridge of the nose. 

He is crouching in the shadows of a busy Italian town, huddled behind a wall with a tattered coat wrapped around his shoulders. Even though his eyes are tightly shut, his ears are open. Cradled in the palm of his hand and hidden by a long sleeve is a small black box, with the switch flicked to ‘ON’. In the street, two men converse in low, flat tones, backs hunched and faces shadowed. One man, with broad shoulders and calloused hands, taps his foot impatiently while the other, thin and wiry, rubs his hands together as he speaks quickly, stumbling over his words. 

“I promise,” he pleads quietly, “I promise that we will have the materials ready by next week. As a bonus, we’ll even add in a quality, one-of-a-kind sniping rifle that comes with specialized bullets that can-“

He is rudely cut off as the other man leans forward. “Don’t give me any of your fancy words,” he snarls. “You better have it done by Friday or else it’s the end for you and your family!” 

Without another word, he turns sharply and stalks off. As he passes, the man can see something flash on his sleeve; an intricate sigil of a jagged cross, painted silver and black. Pale and trembling, the smaller man hesitates for a moment, floundering like a fish out of water before quickly collecting himself and slipping away. 

In the shadows, the man with red hair and red eyes twitches his thumb and flicks the switch to “OFF”. Standing in a rustle of clothes, he quickly moves out of the shadows and slips the recording device into his pocket before draping his coat over his arms. With a grimace, he steps back into the streets and walks briskly, adjusting his hoodie as he does. 

“Well?” a voice crackles into his ear. It’s feminine, cool, and steady. The man pulls out a phone and places it to his ear. 

“It’s just like we thought,” he replies. “Friday.” 

His earpiece crackles as the voice sighs. “Today’s Monday. That’s not a lot of time to work with,” she complains, and there is laughter in the background. 

The man smiles sweetly, even though the woman cannot see it. “I know you’ll figure something out, Adel-san,” he says, raising his head to fix his gaze on a figure that winds through the crowd before him. The man is twitchy, head turning from side to side as if expecting a monster to jump out of the shadows. 

More static. Then, “Enma-chan~, your target is slowly slipping out of range!” 

Enma rolls his eyes. “Not exactly, Julie,” he replies, amusement dancing in his voice. “I can still see him.” 

With that, he taps his earpiece and lowers his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. A flicker of something flashes in his eyes as he quickens his pace, and soon, he melts into the crowd of swarming people, blending in until he is just another in the thrumming mob. 

II. 

Sawada Tsunayoshi is eating lunch on one of his rare days off when he hears the news. 

“Tenth!” Gokudera bounces across the lawn and neatly sidesteps a snoozing Lambo as he waves a handful of papers in the air. “Urgent news!” 

Tearing off a piece of his sandwich, Tsuna turns his head from Mukuro’s and Reborn’s spar to face his Storm guardian. With a disapproving look, Gokudera promptly hands his boss the reports that have just arrived from Squad 7’s scouts. “Rumors are beginning to spread,” Gokudera begins. “You should do something about the Shimon.” 

Tsuna pauses mid-chew and stares at Gokudera, blinking. Then, he begins to laugh, first choking on his food before managing to force it down this throat. His loud, rolling guffaws catch the attention of the two sparring men who cease their motions and look over curiously. Lambo mumbles something and rolls over. Still laughing, Tsuna is wiping tears from his eyes as Mukuro prowls over, heterochromatic eyes glinting with interest. 

“What’s so funny?” Gokudera says, scrunching up his nose. 

“Yes, Dame-Tsuna, what’s so captivating that you had to interrupt our training?” Reborn drawls, tugging down his fedora with a deadly smirk. The Arcobaleno are growing splendidly- Reborn is now an adult in a twelve year olds’ body, but that doesn’t change much. He’s still an egocentric, selfish, cruel, tyrannical---

Anyways. 

With much effort, Tsuna swallows his laughter and calms his shaking shoulders. Still, the corners of his eyes glisten with tears. “And what exactly, Gokudera-kun, do you want me to do about the Shimon?” 

The silver-haired man opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a lilting kufufufufu. 

“The Shimon?” Mukuro laughs, patting down his clothes and taking a seat right next to Tsuna. “Why, just yesterday they wiped out the Armeria Familiga and their biggest trade partner, didn’t they?” 

As Tsuna nods, Mukuro continues. “By the way, Tsunayoshi-kun, didn’t you have dibs on them?” 

Gokudera flounders, but Reborn shoots him a disapproving look that consists of a sharp glare and a dangerous smile. Wisely, the dynamite expert shuts up. 

With a shrug, the young mafia boss picks up his sandwich and takes another bite. “I don’t particularly mind. First come, first serve, I suppose,” he muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. 

Mukuro laughs, Gokudera groans, and Reborn smirks. 

III. 

Enma Kozato stands at the peak of a tower of rubble, waving a cloud of dust away from his eyes. Two people stand by his side. One, a tall woman with straight black hair tied back in a ponytail and a sharp frown. The other is a lanky man with thin-rimmed glasses and smooth green hair. All of their eyes glow red. 

At the base of the pile of concrete and bricks, a single man stands. He is panting, sweat and blood mingling to drip down his face. All around him, men in armor and camouflage lay on the ground, some with blood pooling by their sides, others moaning in pain. 

“Shimon!” the man growls, fists clench in anger. He is trembling, but fear is heavy in his eyes. 

“That’s me,” Enma agrees amicably, hopping from block to block as he slowly treads downward. He looks like a rabbit with earthly flames licking at his fur, but the man does not find it cute at all. 

“You have the audacity to oppose the great and mighty Armeria? The Vongola itself stands behind us! I, as the Don of the Armeria, will not stand for this!” His words echo through the empty space, on a backdrop of fallen men, but they fall on deaf ears. The man spits on the floor, and his hand delves into his coat and slides out with a large, silver gun. Just as he is about to aim and shoot, he realizes that the three people are gone. 

“Wha-“

Enma, in a blaze of red and brown, lightly steps past the Armeria Don. His eyes glow with faint amusement, and his lips are curled into a small smile. “Well,” he says in the same cheery tone, “You don’t have to stand.” 

The man’s eyes widen and his mouth hangs open, but he is crashing to the ground before he can utter a single world. With a sigh, the red haired man shuts his eyes and disperses his Earth Flame, rubbing his hands together to shake off the dust. 

The woman with sharp eyes lands beside him. “Enma, you went overboard,” she warns. “Even the Vongola’s patience has limits.” 

At this, Enma laughs and waves off her words. “Adel-san, I’m sure Tsuna wouldn’t care. After all, the Armeria have been a thorn in his side for a while now. Besides,” he says with a cheeky grin. “First come first serve, am I right?” 

Aoba laughs and pushes up his glasses. “Speaking of which,” he adds, and points toward the distance. Raising his head, Enma is met with the sight of a fleeing man. “It’s a survivor. You’re getting rusty, kiddo.” 

Again, Enma is unfazed. He merely shrugs and begins stroll out of the construction site, toward a nondescript car that is parked innocently by the sidewalk. “Well,” he begins. “We do need someone to spread the word.” 

IV. 

Friday. 

Starched suits, stiff ties, glossy shoes. Smiles, handshakes, complimentary greetings. Sawada Tsunayoshi thinks that if he has to smile any more, his lips will freeze into place and his face will split into two. Reborn notices his discomfort and smirks before waving over the fair-haired Dino Cavallone, who pushes past groups of milling mafia members to greet his friend. 

“Yo, Tsuna!” the cheery man calls. “Rumors are that you’ve got into a bit of trouble with En-, er, the Shimon.” 

Tsuna laughs when the older man stumbles, a real laugh full of warmth, completely different from the forced smiles he’d been wearing all morning. “Well, the rumors are wrong. I haven’t talked, uh, had contact with the Shimon for a while. But,” he adds when he sees the incredulous look on Dino’s face, “A source has told me a bit about the Shimon’s latest…exploit.” 

“The destruction of the Armeria Familiga, am I correct?” Behind him, a voice suddenly sounds, low and velvety and dangerous, and it takes the results of Reborn’s Super Spartan Mafia Boss Ver. 4 training to steel his nerves and not jump up in fright. Dino’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but he smoothly regains his composure. Tsuna steps forward and calmly turns around, ignoring the way a slight chill shoots down his spine. 

Startled, he recognizes the lanky figure and the defined face of the Corata Don. His brown eyes flicker to the Corata’s family emblem, a jagged cross painted silver and black, and after a moment’s pause, he remembers his manners. 

“Yes, you certainly are,” Tsuna confirms, reaching out a hand. The man meets it in a firm handshake. “Corata Nono, was it? It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he says, placing a bright smile on his face.

The Corata Don smiles a smile that is all teeth. “And same to you,” he purrs. 

Dino shifts from foot to foot, wary but silent. 

“Well,” Tsuna begins, “I’ll see you at the meeting in about twenty –“ 

“And what do you plan to do about the Shimon?” Corata cuts in, still smiling. 

Dino’s eyes flash dangerously as Tsuna blinks. “Pardon?” the young man says. 

“The Shimon,” Corata repeats impatiently. His smile is almost gone now. “Those brats have been causing havoc nonstop for the past few months. Why, in just three weeks, they’ve taken down four families. They’re creating an empire!” 

Oh, Tsuna thinks. So this is what it’s about. “Correct me if I’m mistaken,” he begins, slowly, “But I do recall that the Shimon have also attacked your familiga, am I wrong?” 

Again, Corata waves away his words. “That’s not the issue here,” he says, and Tsuna purses his lips. “But, young Vongola, don’t you feel threatened by their insane growth? What if they happen to believe that they have become strong enough and decide to attack you?” 

Again, Tsuna hesitates, but this time it’s to suppress the laughter that is bubbling in his chest. Instead, he lets a wry grin flit across his face. “Well,” he responds breezily, leading the other man towards the grand double doors that open to the meeting room. “I was just going to address that.” 

-/- 

He sits at the head of the table, flanked by Gokudera and Yamamoto. From the men in front of him, Tsuna can see a few friendly faces –Dino, sitting to his left, Byakuran to his right, with Yuni in the seat right next to him. A bit further down the table sits Squalo (because Xanxus couldn’t have been bothered to come), with a scowl and a slight twitch over his eye. Personally, Tsuna can understand, because right next to Squalo sits Don Corata, a pleasant smile stretching his lips. 

He is also none too secretly trying to convince Squalo to buy a supply of semi-automatic rifles with special anti-recoil flame protection or something equally ridiculous. 

Squalo shoots him a deadly silver glare that says, if you don’t start this meeting right now then I will stand up and walk out. And destroy a wall or two. 

Tsuna clears his throat and begins the meeting. 

Soon, one of the bosses raises the long awaited question. 

“And just what,” Lady Riveta says, “Are you going to do about the Shimon? Why, just over the past month, they’ve taken out four families! And our alliance’s Armeria Familiga was wiped out! Killed!” 

“Not killed,” Tsuna corrects gently, “but they are hospitalized.”

Don Riveta continues her spiel. “Even Don Corata’s family was attacked! It can’t be long until they build their power to the point that they would dare to attack the Alliance! Or even you, Vongola! Sawada, you must do something about this!” 

Throughout her little rant, many of the other bosses had nodded thoughtfully and made affirmative noises. Corata nods vigorously, and Squalo narrows his eyes in slight discomfort, Dino mirroring his motion. Still, all faces turn to Sawada Tsunayoshi for a final consensus, who has shifted his position into a more relaxed one, chin propped up by his hand, back slightly slouched. His eyes glimmer with amusement, and Don Riveta’s words of warning do not seem to affect him at all. 

When he speaks, the tone of his voice is cheery and carefree, void of worry or panic. 

“Hmm?” Sawada Tsunayoshi says, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his cheek. “But is there anything to do about the Shimon?”

V. 

Saturday. 

“You’re kidding,” Enma laughs, clutching his stomach. 

“I swear I’m not,” Tsuna protests, flinging a small pillow at his friend and companion. They are lounging about in one of the well hidden Vongola Underground Bases, with lots of things to do and no motivation to do them. 

From behind the couch, Adelheid catches the cushion in mid-air, a terribly unamused glare creasing her face. 

“First of all,” she begins, rounding on her boss, who yelps and attempts to bury himself in a mound of pillows, “Enma, you are supposed to be working. Just because the Shimon isn’t accepted as a powerful familiga yet doesn’t give you freedom to slack off! You have mounds of paperwork left, and there are at least seven –“

“Still,” the red haired man says, waving off his guardian’s admonishments, “Adel-san, that is pretty funny. Are we really scaring them that much?” 

Remembering the terrified expressions of the faces of Armeria’s men, Adel can only sigh. “You are an idiot. Of course we are. If not, why would over five familigas have brought it up to Sawada?” 

Enma’s wild grin makes her fasten another chilling glare onto him. “Don’t try to get me off topic!” she scolds, chucking the pillow at her boss anyways, “You still have a lot of work to do, so get to it!” 

Laughing, Enma rolls off the couch, neatly dodging the projectile. Landing neatly on his feet, a thoughtful look crosses over his face, causing both Tsuna and Adelheid to look up expectantly. “Corata…hmm?” Enma muses, rubbing his cheek. “Isn’t that the familiga who traded extensively with Armeria? Well, I say traded, but it was more like a ‘cater to my demands or I’ll kill you’ kind of relationship.” 

A smirk curls up his lips and his red eyes flash. “Well, Tsuna,” Enma says, bare feet padding across the carpet to the doorway, “I believe I have an urgent appointment to make, so if you will excuse me…” He saunters out the door, waving to his friend and fellow boss. Adel shakes her head with a resigned sigh and follows her boss out the door, nodding a curt goodbye to Tsuna. 

Tsuna watches them leave, and silently swings off the couch, reaching for his phone. Typing in a number, he brings it up to his ear and waits for the ringing to cease. Then, he begins to speak. 

VI.

Saturday.

The man is sitting inside a Starbucks store, sipping contentedly at a mocha Frappuccino. He is tall and lanky, with short black hair and dark brown eyes, and he has a dark jacket draped over his shoulders. However, there is nothing about him that attracts attention, and even the jagged silver and black cross embroidered onto the sleeve of his jacket does not garner more than a look or two. 

A few minutes later, a red-haired man enters the café, unzipping his black and brown windbreaker as he pulls open the doors, fumbling around in his pockets for his wallet. His red eyes seem to twinkle as he saunters over to the barista, greeting her with a bright smile.

After paying for a Pumpkin Spice Latte, which he cradles gingerly in his hands, he inconspicuously wanders over to the table at which the tall man sits, slipping into an unoccupied chair. They stare at each other for a while, each silently observing and gauging. And then, the red haired man leans back, a cool smile flitting over his face. 

“So, Corata Nono, what do I owe this pleasure to?,” Enma drawls, cocking his head in mock confusion. 

The Corata Don narrows his eyes, and Enma can see the dark anger burning inside them. “Shimon,” he all but growls, “You better watch yourself.” 

“Watch myself do what?” Enma teases, feigning innocence as he takes a long slurp of his latte. 

Corata looks as if he is about to throw a table, and Enma’s conceited smirk isn’t helping. “Don’t play with me, boy. How dare you attack the allies of the Vongola? You may be strong, but you’re just a foolish upstart that is unaware of the Vongola’s power!” 

Enma purses his lips. “You talk like you are of the Vongola Familiga,” he says thoughfully, “Although I’m sure that isn’t true! After all, you’re the Don of the Corata Familiga!” 

Ignoring the other man’s sputtered replies, Enma continues talking. “Or, are you trying to say that you’re just angry because the families you’ve been gathering for a riot against the Vongola are slowly disappearing?” 

Corata falls into stunned silence, eyes widening, jaw slack. Unperturbed, Enma drinks again, and the silence is dark and heavy. Soon, the older man seems to find his voice again, and his voice shakes with poorly controlled anger. 

“How dare you,” he snarls, “How dare you, the leader of a lowly family that was nothing since the very beginning and will always be nothing, insult not only me, but also the Vongola!” 

Here, Enma has to place his coffee on the table to stare at Corata in amazement. “When did I ever insult you?” he asks, incredulous. 

Now, Corata’s shoulders are trembling, his face growing redder by the second, and if this were a cartoon, Enma is certain that steam would be billowing out of Corata’s ears. “You miserable son of a bitch, who do you think you are? The Shimon has no history, no past, no future! You and your pathetic guardians have no place in this world- “

A sudden spasm runs through his body, and he stops midsentence. A bead of sweat runs down his cheek. The lopsided smile has been wiped from Enma’s mouth, and all the laughter has disappeared from his eyes. Instead, his lips are now curled upwards into a sneer, and his eyes have darkened to a shade of red so sharp it could kill. Slowly, silently, Enma leans forward, a cold yet refined killed aura spilling through the air. 

Don Corata finds that he cannot speak, cannot move, cannot do anything put stare, terrified, into the Shimon boss’s dark red eyes. 

“I don’t care what you say about me,” Enma says quietly, and Don Corata can feel a terrible weight on his chest, as if an elephant had just sat on him. Breathing becomes difficult. Sweat begins to stain the collar of his jacket. It has become difficult to sit upright, and his body trembles. 

“You can insult me all you want. Call me worthless, call me weak, call me a good for nothing. But, do not ever insult my family,” Enma hisses. “My guardians mean the world to me, and I promise you, it will not be a pretty picture if you ever cross them.” 

Even though his voice is quiet, some of the other customers have caught onto the dark mood shifting through the café, and they are casting cautious looks over to the duo. Don Corata bites his lips and swallows, speechless. 

Then, Enma leans back and smiles a brilliant smile that lights up his face and immediately dissipates the dangerous aura present just a few seconds earlier. Suddenly, it feels like the elephant is jerked off his chest, and Corata is left gasping for air, hands clutching at the hem of his jacket. Their coffee has long gone cold. 

“Well,” Enma says, beaming, “It was a pleasure talking with you today, Don Corata! I think this is a wonderful place to finish up our discussion, wouldn’t you say so?” 

“Oh, and by the way,” Enma’s voice drops again, cold and dangerous, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. The Armeria Famliga was one of your biggest trade partners, weren’t they? Ah, well, one less thing for Don Vongola to worry about!” 

With a flourish, he slides out from under the table, snatching up his drink as he rises. Flashing a wide grin back at the still shell-shocked man, Enma waves. “Ciao!” he calls out, and his footsteps fade away. 

VII.

The stars are splashed across the night sky. Two men, with features so soft they might as well still be boys, stand above the city, breaths fogging up slightly in the cool night air. They are shrouded by shadows. 

The clock tower strikes twelve, and twelve, long, sorrowful clangs ring through the streets, which are bathed yellow by the streetlights that line the sidewalks. The two men look at each other, and then promptly burst into flames. Orange cloaks one man, and reddish-brown flickers over another. 

“It’s about time,” Tsuna says, meeting the other man’s eyes. They burn red, and Enma smirks in return, gesturing to the small squadron of people that are currently darting through the busy streets. When they shift, both men can see jagged crosses flash on their clothes, illuminated by the streetlights. 

“So Corata really was the one leading the mutiny,” Enma remarks, catching sight of a harried Corata Nono. Although the other man is hidden by the cowl of a hood, both of them recognize the tall and lanky silhouette that is slipping through the streets, flanked by two bodyguards that Tsuna remembers from the meeting the previous day. 

“That’s a pity,” the Vongola Don admits, rubbing his gloved hands together, “Even Hibari praised his familiga’s weapons.” 

Enma merely shakes his head, and the two men share another look before disappearing, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of smoke. 

-/-

“Are you sure it’s here?” One of his men asks, but the glare he receives is more than enough of an answer. Irritated, Corata turns back to the rusted metal trapdoor that was once located under a pile of empty storage boxes. The warehouse is huge and spacious, but judging from the layer of dust that covers the floor, no one has set foot in here for a long time. Even he hadn’t believed that this neglected building was one of the entrances to Vongola’s base, but the information broker had assured him it was. 

But, then again, the information broker seemed to be no more than thirteen years old, with a purple hoodie shadowing their (Corata couldn’t tell if the broker was a female or male) face. They had also been quite flippant until he had promised to pay in cash, but this was the best lead he had gotten in a while. 

If he lets this chance go, he might not have another one. 

Corata grinds his teeth. Just as he is about to give the order to open the trapdoor, a sudden blaze of red shoots past him, and his men fall to the ground like flies. 

A laugh echoes through the silent warehouse, and Enma Kozato lands in front of him, dying will flames burning at his forehead and wrapping around his hands. A carefree grin dances on his lips. 

“Never thought I’d see you again so soon,” Enma sings, looking terribly amused at the terrified expression the other man is wearing. 

Then, without warning, Corata snarls and reaches into the folds of his coat, whipping out a long chain-linked whip. “Shimon!” he growls, and purple flames dance up and down the curved weapon. 

Again, Enma cocks his head and answers, “That’s me,” before kicking off in a swirl of reddish-brown flames. Yelling, Corata snaps his whip forward, and the Cloud flames snap and crackle. The chains shoot forward, wrapping around Enma’s leg mid-flight. Grinning madly, Corata snaps downward, and Enma crashes to the floor in a cloud of dust. 

Stumbling backwards, the man snorts in contempt, about to speak, but the slight whoosh of flames stops him. 

“Corata,” a soft voice says, and the man falls silent. He turns around. 

Vongola Decimo is standing behind him, orange Sky flames flickering on his forehead and over the famed Vongola X Gloves that cover his hands. Bright orange eyes stare at him. 

“What are you doing here?” Sawada asks as he steps closer, voice sweet as honey. 

“It’s the Shimon!” Corata is quick to say. “They were planning to ambush and attack you- I caught wind of it ---“

A fit of coughing interrupts his rant. From the cloud of dust rises Enma, slightly bruised but still grinning, and his flames still burn brightly. Unbeknownst to Corata, Enma and Tsuna share a look that borders on exasperation, but fades as quickly as it comes. 

“---but you must do something about the Shimon!” Corata continues, and his grip tightens. “Vongola, I say this with the utmost respect, but if you do not nip this problem in the bud, then it will be too late!”

Almost all of the amusement rushes out of Tsunayoshi’s golden eyes, and he lets out a sigh. “There is not a problem,” he says, and the flames burn a little brighter. 

The other man’s jaw drops. “E-excuse me?” he stutters. 

Tsuna rolls his eyes in a very unprofessional matter. “Like I said, there simply isn’t a problem.”

Corata is about to protest, but a fist coated in red flames connects with his jaw, and the last thing he sees is Vongola and Shimon high fiving each other. Then, his world blacks out. 

VIII. 

“Oh dear,” the nurse says as three men stumble through the doors. 

Two men are supporting a third, who is unconscious and bruised. The man on the right, a kind-looking brunet, smiles sheepishly and lays the unconscious man on a stretcher that has been summoned. 

“Sorry about this,” he says, “Today was a rough day.” 

Flabbergasted, the nurse takes a few seconds to recover her composure, but just as she is about to snap awake and ask questions, she realizes that the two men have disappeared. No one saw them leave. 

IX. 

Two months later, when the days are not so cold anymore and the birds sing happily in the soft spring morning, Tsuna finds himself standing before the grand doors of the Vongola Meeting Room, silently lamenting the waste of a perfect morning. The other bosses are already inside, seated, and waiting for the arrival of their last attendee, who also happens to be their host. 

Beside him, Enma grins. “Here we go,” he says, a slight quaver to his voice. Tsuna rolls his eyes. 

“After months of terrorizing the Alliance, you’re still terrified at the prospect of social interactions?” the boss of the largest and most influential mafia familiga teases. 

In response Enma scowls and tugs uncomfortably at the hem of his suit. “I hate this,” he grumbles, but follows Tsuna anyways as he walks towards the doors. With a push, they swing open smoothly, and each and every boss of the Vongola Alliance stares at the two men who stand in the doorway. 

Corata’s eyes widen and he stiffens. Beside him, Armaria, still swathed in bandages, lets out a slight whimper very unbefitting of a mafia boss. 

Xanxus snorts. Byakuran waves giddily, tossing a marshmallow into his mouth as he does so. A slight murmur rises, and Dino whispers to Yuni, “I told you so!” 

Sawada Tsunayoshi clears his throat and the room falls into silence. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, authority seeping into his voice, “I apologize for the delay. Today, I am pleased to announce a new addition to our alliance – Enma Kozata and the Shimon Familiga!” 

Again, the voices rise, and Don Riveta’s voice rings out over the buzz. “Vongola, you cannot be serious! Why would you accept this powerless, no-name familiga – “

And again, Sawada effortlessly silences the crowd, even Xanxus, who is glaring murderously at nothing in particular. 

“Is there a problem?” Tsuna asks pleasantly, and no one dares to answer. 

X. 

“Actually, there is a problem,” Mammon snaps, and Belphegor stick his fingers into his ears. 

“Lalalalala~ I’m not listening!” the prince sings, dancing out of an octopus illusion’s tentacles. 

“He was thirteen dollars and forty five cents short!” the Arcobaleno howls, tossing up the bills and coins into the air. They fall on Fran’s frog hat, and the illusionist makes a muffled whimper of pain. Even though their eyes are covered, both Belphegor and Fran can feel the murderous aura rolling off the Arcobaleno in waves. 

“That damn Corata,” Mammon continues, lunging for their money as Fran rolls over. “I should have never agreed to the Vongola brat’s deal! Now I need to track that bastard down and-“

The Varia’s Storm and Mist guardian watch as their chief illusionist plus part time treasurer in a twelve year old’s body throws a temper tantrum, blasting sparks of Mist flame everywhere. 

“Senpai was right,” Fran remarks, “There is a problem.” 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please tell me your thoughts!


End file.
